The Word Changers

by Ashlee Willis

  That was the last thing she saw before a flood of water and flames completely crashed over her head.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Changed

  She woke from a sleep like death. The story’s power still pulled her down, even as the Author pushed her up, up into her own world again, commanding, insistent against any weakness she may give into, just as he had been once before.

  Her eyelids wouldn’t seem to open, her arms and legs felt like lead. Posy could hear something, though. Something unspeakably familiar and comforting. She realized, not knowing if she wanted to laugh with relief or cry with sorrow, that it was the soft buzzing hum of the electric lights in the library. Her eyes obeyed her at last, and she opened them slowly to soft yellow light and tall unending shelves of books.

  So here I am, as if nothing happened at all, she thought, and she suddenly felt tired to her bones. Thoughts flashed through her mind, memories tore through it mercilessly, and she closed her eyes against them. She put her face in her hands and began to shake with silent sobs.

  “I’m sorry,” a soft voice came to her through her grief. “I’m sorry, but ... is there anything I can do to help?”

  Posy hadn’t known anyone was near to witness her tears. She quickly choked them back and rubbed her palms across her face to wipe it dry before looking up into a pair of dark eyes. Her heart did a strange turn inside of her, but then she began to see all of him. He was a boy from her school. She had only passed him in the halls—never spoken to him. But she didn’t speak to many people. He was tall—a bit lanky, perhaps—and wore round-rimmed glasses. In his long arms, he carried a stack of books so tall Posy feared his slender body might topple over under the weight of it at any moment. He must be a year or two older—she had seen him studying and talking with the other juniors and seniors.

  But why did it matter? She had just wanted to cry in peace, to mourn for the place and people she had lost. But something in his look stopped her from giving a sharp retort. It was kindness. He wasn’t just being polite; he was worried about her. And if she looked beyond the glare of light on his glasses, deep enough into his eyes, she thought she could see a trace of ...

  She smiled suddenly. He backed a step away from her and cast his eyes down. They had lost their look of concern, and now he only looked embarrassed.

  “Sorry to bother you,” he mumbled, and began to turn away.

  “No!” Posy quickly set the book on the table next to her and leapt from her chair. “Please don’t go. I wasn’t smiling because ... I wasn’t laughing at you! Is that what you thought?”

  “Well,” he said, looking cautiously up at her again, and she knew she had guessed right.

  She sighed. “I was only smiling because ... well, because I like looking at you.” Her eyes widened as she heard the words come out, and she clapped a hand over her mouth.

  Now it was the boy’s turn to laugh. She watched his face transform, his dimples and his flash of white teeth giving him something like charm.

  “As long as I know you’re all right.” His face took on its serious look once more. “I had been watching you read ... oh, well, I suppose I shouldn’t have told you that ... well, I saw you reading, and it looked as if you weren’t ever going to come out of that book! I can tell you, I’ve felt the same way before. But after a while ... something seemed to be not quite right. You ...” and he paused, unsure of continuing. “Well,” he said at last. “You were too far away.”

  “Too far?” Posy asked faintly.

  He shook his head. “Never mind.” He smiled again. “Can I help you carry any of your books?”

  “No,” said Posy quickly. The sudden image of Kyran’s face flashed through her mind, and she felt her heart sink, and something like shame. Should she be speaking to this boy at all—even smiling at him—when she had just left Kyran, whom she loved so much? It felt like a betrayal.

  “But thanks anyway,” she mumbled.

  He seemed to gain some confidence from her uncertainty, and said, “I’d offer to walk you home ... but I can see you’d rather be alone right now.”

  They had begun walking together down the aisle between the bookshelves, treading the zigzagging path toward the stairs. Posy remained silent, still in the grip of her longing. It’s not his fault, she reasoned with herself. He has no idea what I’ve been through and where I’ve just come from. And, she cast a sidelong glance at him, he’s nice. Nice enough to be a true friend. She knew instinctively that he wouldn’t judge her or laugh at her. She even had a fleeting thought of sharing her experience with him ... at least, maybe one day.

  Normally she could barely talk to a boy, especially one she had never met. But this wasn’t normal, and she wasn’t normal. She had changed unspeakably because of the things she had seen and done, and she felt older, wiser, braver.

  “Maybe,” she ventured, “tomorrow? I’ll probably be here—I am most days, anyway. Maybe I’ll see you then.”

  “Yes,” he said, his eyes shining. “Yes, all right.” He ran long fingers nervously through his unkempt brown hair.

  They had reached the lobby and Posy turned to him. Thoughts of anything else were quickly receding as she thought of her family, her home. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” she said and made to turn from him toward the large double doors.

  “Ethan.”

  “What?”

  “Ethan,” the boy repeated. “That’s my name.”

  “Oh.” Posy felt herself flush as several people turned to look at them. “My name is Posy.”

  “Posy,” he said with a nod, and she liked the way it sounded when he said it. “I’ll see you soon, then, Posy.”

  * * *

  The trees were greener than they had been, the sky had been washed a brilliant blue. It probably was noon or not long after, but Posy could see the moon in the sky, and it was large, larger than it used to be, she was sure, shining stubbornly against the sun’s greater light, a dull marble white. She had stepped back into the world that was hers, and she found it wasn’t the one she had left—not really. Would nothing ever be the same again?

  Posy walked down the street, her feet unexpectedly slow. Word changers, that’s what they had called Kyran and her. The wonder of it was that the words to the story hadn’t changed at all ... it had been the characters themselves. For the words had already been changing all around them, every age, every day. They had awoken from a dream and found they had a choice—one that had been there all along. Posy wondered if she would ever stop thinking about the story and what would happen there now that she was gone. She wondered if she would ever stop looking for Kyran’s face around every corner.

  But she had a secret now, the one that had led her home, and she was impatient and terrified to tell it and to live it. You can’t die from the lack of something when you have so much of it to give yourself, she thought. Why did the words seem so familiar, when she knew she had never heard them spoken before? She would never have to fear again, never wonder if she would shrivel up or simply disappear from love not given, or not felt. Kyran, the Kingdom, the Wild Land, the Glooming, even Falak and the king and queen—they had all forced her to open her eyes to what was already in her.

  No one can open your eyes but you, child. The voice was on the breeze—or had it come from the click of her shoes on the pavement—or the beat of her heart? She knew the voice, of course, would always know that voice, and warmth like a blanket settled around her. Others can shine a light, but you have to choose to see it.

  She rounded the corner at last to see her achingly familiar house. Here I am, she told herself, gathering her courage like armor, here I am. I’ve come from so far away. So far. They don’t know my secret, she thought, and it gave her a thrill of happiness. They can’t guess it, but I’ll show it to them every way I can. Mom, Dad, Lily. Her love for them pulsed through her heart and into her veins. It was a part of her as it never had been.

  So Posy walked up the stairs she had descended hours ago—lifetimes ago. She gr
asped the doorknob with a shaking hand, drew her breath, and walked into a new world.

  ~ end ~

  About the Author

  When Ashlee is not writing, she's walking in the woods, reading fairytales, haunting old book stores, or searching for bugs and frogs with her young son. She lives in the heart of Missouri with her husband, son, and cat. She is already hard at work on her next book, also a fantasy for young adults. You can find Ashlee at http://AshleeWillisAuthor.wordpress.com, where she blogs about fantasies and fairytales, and where she also loves to hear ideas and opinions from all her readers. She can also be found on Twitter (@BookishAshlee) and Facebook.